


Falling From Grace

by Siknakaliux



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Kirigiri
Genre: Age Swap, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Food Poisoning, Murder-Suicide, Nutmeg, POV Second Person, Partner Betrayal, Personality Swap, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:06:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siknakaliux/pseuds/Siknakaliux
Summary: Surely you should've known..To turn back before you go too far.
Relationships: Nanamura Suisei/Samidare Yui
Kudos: 2





	Falling From Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Some random dream I had somehow, written cause why not. Honestly it's kinda weird
> 
> Roles (and age) are kinda swapped here: Kyoko Kirigiri//Suisei Nanamura, so basically Nanamura takes Kirigiri's place, both in role and age.
> 
> Don't ask, tbh Its hella wack, why did I even do this fFfFffFf

You never really cared about school, or its course subjects in the first place. You might think you've been above some 'slackers' throughout, but slowly the way you lived creeped up on you.

It first started off with your room:

_'Couldn't bother.'_

_'Maybe later..'_

_'Ugh, get it out of my sight..'_

Slowly but surely what used to be your tidy dorm dwelling now degraded into a disgraceful mess, those unlucky enough to walk past then flinch with secondhand shame.

It then spread to your general appearance:

_'Why do I even put up with these things?..'_

_'Ironing? Crease free? No thanks..'_

_'I hate this damn jacket..'_

You've decided to overhaul your general image, sparing the maintenance stress for the rest of the students. You completely disregard the 'Uni' in 'Uniform', presenting the various parts in ways generally unheard of when wearing an article of clothing; Dress shirt tied to your waist, leaving only your unkempt vest in view, followed by a half-assed attempt at making your blazer resemble some sort of cloak. You then give up after a few tries, eventually wearing it normally, but not even bothering to put your other arm through the sleeve. It drapes at your shoulder, revealing in full view of your sloppiness, but you don't really care; You're already breathing easier now that you're taking things at your own pace.

..But it doesn't seem to be that way for the rest of the academy's officials.

Then it spread to your overall attitude:

You didn't bother with the rules. As easily as you've broken a code of conduct, immediately you're chastised, made an example of, and labelled such as a 'Delinquent'. Repeated attempts at intervention are made with constant assaults of detention, detention, goddamned _detention._ Each and every strike you snake out of, only to be met with an even harsher fate. You're now confined yourself to your lowly dorm room, but that still doesn't stop your rebellious steak. You sneak out of hours to indulge yourself in the rush of underage substance use, less-than-legal joyriding and petty larceny.

Despite detective work being your forté, you technically _should_ be law-abiding.. But what greater way to understand a criminal's way of mind than it is to _become_ a criminal, yeah?.. Just leave it all to instinct, let the thought of 'justice' perish. Time passes just as quickly as you're scrambling away from suspicion.

...

Despite your thrill seeking endeavours, you still needed to pay the academy's tuition. _Why_ in the world you've been offered to go here, you cannot comprehend, but it beats freezing to death. Your previous cases offered you bits and pieces here and there.. But it was never enough. _Nothing's ever enough._

One day, a completely black envelope reaches your proximity.

This was quite different, unlike most warning letters regarding your current academic standing.. Curiosity gets the best of you and you tear it open, managing to rip through some of the papers. It's still legible though, and you begin scanning its contents- Except it's nothing but a mediocre mess of riddles you can't be bothered to decipher. Just as you're tempted to torch the entire contents, a single paragraph catches your attention: _'Bestowed with one million upon acceptance, one million upon completion, and all other expenses paid.'_

 _This_ is what you've been missing all this time.. Something that'll satisfy the never-ending lust for cash. You wished it were higher, but this _is_ high enough, for now.

...

Against school hours you make way to the letter's location, a hefty bit of supplies in your backpack and that same, uncaring appearance. The taxi rolls up to 3 other detectives, having already arrived before you. As soon as you step out, one particular drunkard starts picking at every detail; Especially his guesses regarding your daily life and nitpicks.

Time passes by, and finally the last detective makes their appearance: At least thirteen, the soft, salmon colour of his ill-fitting suit and the innocent look in his eyes.. He goes by the name _Suisei Nanamura._ Despite his presentation, your breath skips; It might not seem like it, but you feel he's almost similar in regards to you- The ill-fitting size of his suit: _Disheveled, lax, disorderly._ A failed attempt at a tie hanging undone at the dress shirt's collar.. The consequence of his past attitudes leaving him with a band-aid just under his eye, you knew despite just meeting that _he_ might just be more than a partner.

...

The cold wind cuts through your already thin clothing, but you don't mind. The observatory is just ahead, and it seems that the potential prize is just within your reach. Time passes by and there isn't much else to be found. The search leads inconclusive results, and just as the team calls quits, smoke rapidly expels from a thrown canister.

You're out just as quick as your thoughts lead.

...

You awake, unknown on the time. Restricted, it seems that you've been shackled both to the bedpost and the salmon-suited boy. Everyone but both of you are dead, and death lingers the air like a sickening virus, clouding your sense of already little judgment. The boy awakens, having already risen from the chair and now in the process of loading most of his available bullets into the small 357 Magnum with a smirk. He aims directly at you, the volume in his voice a bit too boastful if he were actually wanting to kill.

 _That_ alone is what it took for the case to completely seal shut. As soon as the Assigned Detective's life was at stake, the victim wouldn't risk their death. Nanamura tore at a loophole and abused it, all in a matter of seconds. And just like that, the culprit admitted defeat and life resumed as it was normally.

His intelligence, his attitude, his way of thought.. It truly intrigued you. It doesn't hurt to get closer, wouldn't it?

...

The Detective Library. A method of keeping store of over thousands of registered detectives, with the ranking system both a mystery and useless in its purpose. Despite all that you browse around and having locked onto Suisei's file, sent along quite a.. Questionable heartfelt message.

Days pass, and he responds.. Not in the most usual way. It's still better than being ghosted, that's for sure, and before you know it you're already pouring your heart out to some disarrayed kid out in the open snow. Not that it matters, your feelings were mostly volatile in the most part, anyways. With a toothy grin, Suisei accepts your proposal without a second doubt. Your next move was abruptly interrupted by a helicopter's presence, the blades stirring strong gusts of wind as a confidently dressed woman suddenly jumps out: _Kyoko Kirigiri._

* * *

The high-rise diner emits an aura what wealthy people would call 'extravagant'. Despite her plans to rope both of you into assisting with _her_ Duel Noir, every single moment of attitude leaves a rage inducing moment of irritation. The way she poked fun at your demeanour. The way she always took things far too seriously. The way she looked down on both of you.. She's quite well known due to her ranking, but at least it's an honour of getting to meet a double zero up close and personal.

...

Time passes by and the meeting then descends into Norman's Hotel territory, in which an unexpected auction turns into a confining death game.. Everything goes wrong the moment you step in. Days fly by with nothing but fear, death, and dwindling numbers. Despite the crushing feeling of dismay looming all over you, it's the only time you've ever felt _truly alive._ You're counting down the hours until New Years, until the game finally ends. Confined akin to a prison cell, Suisei's embrace does more than enough to calm you down. Everything fades slowly-

Then you're waken to the sounds of gunshots with the hallway's light spilling inwards, and with Suisei nowhere to be found. Scrambling out only surprises you with various bloodstains painting the walls. Another set of steps reveals both Kirigiri and Nanamura facing head on, revolvers dead set on firing with the slightest movement.

Kirigiri's dead set on absolute completion, but Nanamura's expression shows that he's slippery as ever; Any outcome he wouldn't mind.. It's simply just a game of chance, no? The time limit is almost up, and it seems that it's game over for _her_ it seems, as the trigger-happy Nanamura hails bullets upon bullets against Kirigiri. Just like that, the clock strikes D-Day, and everything comes to a close.

With a slightly bloodstained state of dress and a trembling sense of grip, Suisei's nerved laughter echoes throughout the area. His composure doesn't last long under stress, it seemed.. And your sense of allure keeps blurring with every passing day.

* * *

You've somehow made your way into some sort of car, already confined by the locks and in the presence of some sort of older man. Of course, it was _partially_ your fault; Your unnerving curiosity for some blue haired kid triumphed all of your (quite little) sense of logic. The man spares no sense of hesitation, and already two coloured envelopes are thrust in front of you.

It's your call, after all..

The sight of the usual, black envelope tempts you to revel in the million dollar opportunities, but _another choice_ beckons at you. A white envelope, it seems, and the more the man talks casually at what seems like the 'Victim's Catharsis Committee', the more your curiosity peaks. Maybe it's not so bad to give it a try, eh..? Maybe the lesser known decisions yield the highest profits. Your decision already solidified, and you've already been ushered out into the cold.

 _That_ was the decision, after all. Could've there been a shred of regret? Hesitation?.. It was a bit forceful on your end.

Time passes by..

...

Suisei was nowhere to be found. It was like one day he simply decided to lay low and cease existing, and every rushed letter you've sent him yields no response. You lay there on your bed, inert. The opened white letter and its contents lays sprawled on the ground. You're already beginning to show signs of doubt, but it seems like you've gone too far. Scenarios and a deadline bolt through your head; You've been offered an amount only people in their lifetime dream of earning.. All simply by putting a single person to rest. Despite the extraneous offer, you feel like there's something wrong.. But it's too late to back out now. You've already committed to the plan.

* * *

It starts off like this- You're hastily whipping around the weapon like a crazed maniac, uncaring of surroundings as long as the blade simply just strikes _something._ The target you've been tasked to hit isn't in your sights, so your thoughts simply conclude that you've eliminated them. Others have yet to reveal themselves, so things are in the clear for now.. Right?

That was _supposed_ be part of the plan.. But reality spares no mercy, whether prepared or not.

It apparently starts- Rather, _ends_ in you sprawled to the ground, having lost everything planned, shouldering all the burdens of expectation, failure, and the steadily growing pool of blood.

 _This_ wasn't a matter to fail, but you screwed up the moment you've set foot with the intention to kill. This contract tolerates _absolutely no_ failure, but you've still managed to let down. You only wanted to taste a little more danger, not end up renounced in the middle of a goddamn murder attempt.

Nothing matters anymore. Despite the pain, you still want to refuse this reality, _this_ reality only _you yourself_ brought down on. It can't just end like this.. There must be some sort of reset..?

...

One hour passes.

You're dragged into a cramped room, hurting more than you could handle. You spot a glimmer of a _certain_ suit colour at the corner of your vision, but the suffering of your condition claims your consciousness.

...

Three hours pass.

The smell of iron nulls you awake, but it's when you get a feel of your hand brushing in your own pool of blood that brings in the jolt of a reality check. Things aren't alright.. And things are going to get worse if you don't hang in there. Weakness creeps up to you.

...

Four hours pass.

You desire to quench your hunger.. But simply wishing doesn't make it any better. The sight of Nanamura sparks both relief and unnerve as he walks up to you, jar of nutmeg in hand. _Why_ is he here..? _How_ does he know of this situation..? He forces your head up, and spoonful after spoonful of dry powder parches your throat. You don't understand.. _He_ was your partner, why would he wilfully harm one of his own..?

Teaspoons did more than enough to speed up your thirst.. Not an _entire jar._ Ordinary nutmeg's bad by itself, but an added kick of _myristicin_ simply crossed the line.

...

Five hours pass.

Dry heaving, determined to get every speck out, away, _out._ Your head starts spinning, your body hurts more than ever.. It would pass, wouldn't it..?

...

Six hours pass.

Your heart is racing, everything your body functioned now is thrown completely out the window. Every part is trembling, unwilling to stop. Effects after effects stack upon your body, already nearing its limit. No amount of time heals this gaping crater of self-inflicted state of wreck.

...

Twelve hours pass.

Nothing seems real anymore. Your fever is at it's highest- 106 degrees, and visions streak across you. Hallucinations. You can't tell if _he's_ there in the room with you, staring about as your pleading screams of death pierce the area. You no longer tolerate living in this state; Banging, pounding, ripping at every part around the room, ripping at every part of what keeps you alive-

A faint clatter. _He_ seems to have left, and only a revolver remained.

You can't take this anymore. You can't tolerate this haze of staring into the abyss, insanely close to death's door.

Nothing's ever enough, nothing could ever fix the every growing array of mistakes _you_ brought down on yourself.

The grip on the revolver almost slips with so little strength left..

What it took to end it all was a single click.


End file.
